


Christmas Lights

by consultingasshat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Exchangelock Holiday Exchange 2014, First Kiss, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Reichenbach is mentioned, sherlock does stupid things, this is just pure fluff, what even is a writing style?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 16:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5593243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consultingasshat/pseuds/consultingasshat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock does something dumb, which results in John having to warm him up, which results in... other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Lights

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [diogenist](diogenist.tumblr.com) a long long time ago for the 2014 Holiday Exchangelock, and I just never posted it. They requested mistletoe, snow and sharing of body heat, and I got two out of the three. Enjoy!

“Sherlock, it is cold, and I would like to get home before we both get hypothermia.”

“But John, we just got here and I distinctly remember you agreeing to come with me. And besides, it’s not even cold enough to get hypothermia out here.”

“When you burst into the flat yelling ‘IT’S CHRISTMAS’ I thought you were just pointing out that today is, in fact, Christmas, and not that there was a butchered body in an alley somewhere that you had to investigate.”

“Your mistake.” 

John sighed in defeat, his breath steaming in the chilly December air. It really was cold enough to get hypothermia, no matter what Sherlock said, and John had decided as soon as they had stepped into the night air that he should’ve taken up the offer to go out with the pretty woman from the coffee shop who had seemed quite taken with him. But no, he had instead chosen to freeze his arse off with his bloody insane flatmate on Christmas Eve. 

“Got anything yet?” Lestrade asked, coming up behind Sherlock and John. He had the look of a man who would rather be anywhere but where he was, which made sense given that it was a holiday. “Wish that at least a murderer could take Christmas off, but apparently that’s just not my luck.”

“It was his sister. She just wanted the money from the parent’s will, and this was her means of getting it.” Sherlock said, his coat already billowing as he turned away.

“Hold up, Sherlock, why is he in bits in an alleyway?” Lestrade asked, chasing after the detective and leaving John to follow behind. “And what sort of weapon would do that to a person?”

Sherlock stopped in his tracks, still as a statue. His features betrayed nothing as he turned around to John and Lestrade. “She thought if she left him here no one would find the body, and if he was chopped up it’d be harder to find the killer. Stupid mistakes. However, the weapon..” Sherlock finished off thoughtfully, his face taking on an expression that alarmed John. Before the doctor could catch Sherlock’s sleeve, the detective was off, his long legs carrying him around the corner. 

“I’ll go get him before he hurts himself, don’t worry.” John said over his shoulder to a bewildered looking Lestrade. He dashed after Sherlock, listening for the footsteps of the much faster detective. Stopping only for busy streets, John finally spotted Sherlock standing on a bridge that crossed the Thames. 

Wait. Was Sherlock… on the bridge railing?

_ Standing under the roof. _

_ “This is my note.” _

_ “SHERLOCK” _

_ Blood, blood, so much blood. _

John ran towards Sherlock, sirens blaring in his head. “Sherlock, what the hell are you doing?” he yelled, his words whipped away by the frigid wind. The Christmas lights from surrounding buildings shone through Sherlock’s curls, making a halo around his head as he looked down at John. 

“The murder weapon” was all he said, his face awash in delight. 

And then he promptly jumped off the bridge.

“SHERLOCK!”

John looked down into the dark water, seeing Sherlock surface and dive back down again. His chest unclenched, his worst fears pushed into the back of his mind for now. At this point, he was a little bit annoyed along with all the worry for Sherlock. 

“Always one for the bloody theatrics,” John muttered to himself as he raced around to the bank of the Thames, “even on Christmas.” The bridge was not high enough for the jump to kill Sherlock, but the shock of the cold river was a worrying factor in John’s mind. His chest clenched again when he heard the shiver in Sherlock’s voice as he called out to John. “It w-was an umbrella! Look J-John, I found it!” The detective yelled across the dark water to John, waving something indiscernible above his head. 

“Sherlock, I don’t care you had just found the crown jewels of England at the bottom of the Thames! Get out of the water, NOW!” 

Sherlock must have heard the panic in John’s voice, because for once he complied without argument. Lestrade had arrived at this point, standing behind John and occasionally muttering about what a lunatic Sherlock was. As soon as the waterlogged Sherlock reached the bank, John was reaching to help him out of the water and into the orange shock blanket Lestrade had helpfully provided. 

“I’m n-not even in shock!” Sherlock protested, unsuccessfully trying to push the blanket off of his shoulders. John tugged it more firmly around the shaking man, who even soaking wet and freezing looked delighted to have figured out the puzzle. The missing piece lay at John’s feet in the form of a limp, pink umbrella that had a razor sharp tip. Sherlock grinned at Lestrade, a truly terrifying thing under even these circumstances, and said, “Here’s your evidence, now run along and make it look like you solved the crime. I have a other places to be and-” Sherlock’s snide litany halted as John laid a hand on the damp elbow of the detective.

“We are going home now, to a nice fire and some nice tea, and Sherlock’s not going to catch hypothermia, and we’ll have a nice Christmas where no one dies.” John told Lestrade while leading Sherlock away from the riverbank. Lestrade’s face broke into an amused grin as he watched Sherlock’s futile struggle to get away from John, and he yelled “Well, have a good Christmas!” as the pair got into a cab.

~

“What do you mean, the heating’s out? Sherlock just jumped into the Thames and a little bit of heat would be nice right now.” John’s words were directed at a shocked looking Ms. Hudson, who immediately started fussing over Sherlock. The detective’s pale lips were now tinged blue, and he was shivering harder than he had been when he had been dragged out of the Thames. John was beginning to worry that he might actually have to bring Sherlock to the hospital, as much as the man would hate the idea. 

“It stopped working about half an hour after you two left, dear. I called the repair people, but they aren’t working since it’s Christmas and they just said to put a fire on. The electricity isn’t out, though, so I’ll make you two a nice cup of tea while you get Sherlock upstairs.” Ms. Hudson shooed John and Sherlock up the stairs as she hurried into her flat to make the promised tea. As soon as he walked into the flat and saw his breath fog up, John knew Sherlock would need all the heat he could get, and he rushed about making a fire and finding blankets as Sherlock changed into dry pajamas and then sat shivering on the couch. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since his declaration of having solved the case, but John just attributed it to the fact that the detective was slowly becoming an icicle.  As he bundled up blankets around Sherlock until only the ice blue eyes and dark frizzy curls could be seen peeking out the top, Ms. Hudson came bustling in with two steaming cups of tea and another mound of blankets. John managed to shoo her out as soon as he got the fire going and helped Sherlock move to sit on the floor directly in front of the fire. Easing down beside him, John was startled when Sherlock finally spoke, his voice muffled through the blankets.

“Shared body heat is an effective and quicker way to heat someone up, you know.”

“What?”

“Shared body heat, John.”

John scooted closer to the bundle of blankets. “Better?”

“What good are you going to do out there?”

John sighed, already accepting how awkward this would be if someone walked in, and peeled back the blankets till he got to Sherlock. He squeezed in, arms tight at his side, feeling very strange and a little flushed. It was probably just the warmth of the blankets, though, and not the fact that Sherlock had pulled the blankets back around both of them and put his arms around John in the process. Or the fact that his lips were now very, very close to Sherlock’s and he could see each individual eyelash on those gorgeous eyes. 

Gorgeous?

“This is better,” Sherlock started, his voice low, “than you being out there.”

“Mhm.” John looked down to hide his red face. 

“And, uhm, you’re, uhm, warmer than I thought you would be.”

John looked back up at Sherlock’s face, startled by the uncertainty in his voice. “Are you alright, Sherlock?”

“I mean, I’ve taken your temperature before and it’s almost exactly the average human temperature, so I don’t know why you would feel so warm, but maybe it’s because my body temperature is so much lower and I’ve never been in such a tight space with anyone else before and… and…” Sherlock trailed off, looking dazed at his own string of words. John reached up to feel Sherlock’s forehead, noting he felt warmer than he had before. Sherlock’s face flushed as John trailed his hand back down into the blanket cocoon, though John attributed it to Sherlock heating up and nothing else. 

“Sherlock, are you feeling any better? Any warmer?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Is there anything else I can do to warm you up?” John said, then immediately flushed as he realized how many people would have taken that line. Sherlock, however, just looked down at his with an odd expression on his pale face. 

Leaning in a little, he whispered “John, I-”

“Sherlock, Sherlock look! It’s snowing!” John said, oblivious to the stricken look on Sherlock’s face that was soon changed into a look of amusement. John, whose hands were currently trapped beneath the blankets, was bobbing his head in the direction of the window to show Sherlock. The detective started to laugh, an abrupt noise that startled John, though he soon started laughing too. Sherlock unconsciously squeezed John closer to him, until they were face to face and Sherlock was illuminated by the Christmas lights on the tree and John made a startled “oh” and then they were kissing, warm mouth on cold lips and the only word in John’s mind was _ sherlocksherlocksherlock _ and they were falling backwards and tangled up in the blankets and there were dark curls in his fist and a pale hip under John’s other hand and Sherlock kept making the most perfect noises and John felt dizzy and-

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was a whisper in the cold air, reaching out to the man who had pulled away and ducked his head. A sudden rush of thoughts filled John’s mind, with phrases like  _ it was a mistake  _ and  _ I’m sorry  _ and  _ Sherlock  _ and  _ I love you  _ and John was more scared than he had ever been in his life, even with bombs and bullet wounds and Sherlock jumping off things. 

Until Sherlock looked up again, pale skin against dark curls and warm eyes and asked, “May I kiss you again, John?”

“Oh, God, yes.”


End file.
